No Greater Love
by StarStepper
Summary: ENDGAME SPOILERS:::::::: Natasha Romanov didn't even get a coffin. Her body was surrendered to Vormir, in exchange for the Soul Stone. In the seconds before she dies, she reflects on what she's been given. After her death, her family reflects on what they've lost. A/N: Come on, really? Natasha deserved so much more in Endgame, so I gave her more. T for sadness and language.


She fell.

The wind whipped past her, the blonde tips of her hair flapping wildly over her shoulder, the pit of her stomach dropping as gravity yanked her closer and closer to the stony ground with each inch her body plummeted.

She knew she had four of five seconds during her fall, but it seemed like so, so little.

It was too little. But it was enough.

She had time to catch one more glimpse of Clint's anguished face, his hand still reaching out towards her as if he could keep her suspended by sheer will. She saw the exact moment his eyes lost hope, when he knew that she was going to connect with the rocky bottom, no matter what he did.

She saw the exact second that her fate was reflected in his eyes.

She knew she had four or five seconds, so she used them.

She conjured up every image she could. Tony Stark, the insufferable ass that he was, one of her best friends, lying beside her on a conference table, half-buried in empty chip bags and dirty dishes, plotting how to save the world like grade-schoolers in their backyard.

Steve Rogers, looking every bit like America's Golden Boy as he leaned against the door, watching her knowingly as she crumbled, even when she tried to deny it. She remembered his face, telling her they both needed to get lives, looking exasperated with the both of them. She remembers the smirk on her face as she threw back, "You first."

Thor Odinson, one the most laughable, conflicting men she'd ever met, who became an ally, then earned her respect, then became a friend, and finally wormed his way into her heart as a member of the ragtag family she'd tried to keep from forming. She remembered once he'd challenged her to a drinking contest. Natasha hadn't thought she'd win, but when he pulled out the bottle of Russian vodka and grinned, she knew immediately she was going to drink him under the table within the hour, godly metabolism or not. She remembered the haunted look in his eyes after the Snap, and she prayed that he would find peace.

Bruce Banner, one of her only real regrets. She'd been trained since childhood to reject friendship, acceptance, trust, love. She'd already thrown all of those out the window, so why had she never fully acted on her feelings for Bruce? She knew why. She knew, because he'd disappeared for two years and when he'd finally come back, there was too much else to deal with. But it was still a regret. She wondered if he'd regret her, too. What could have been. What might have been. She'd miss his awkward humor and his shy intelligence. She'd miss the Hulk's snuffles at her lullabies, and the way he'd responded to her even in his angriest moments. She'd miss them both.

Clint Barton.

Without a shadow of a doubt, her savior.

The image of mere moments ago flashed before her eyes, when she told him she didn't judge people by their worst mistakes. She saw the haunted look in his eyes, the utter devastation and pain as he said, "Maybe you should."

She remembered her response. "You didn't."

And that was the moment she decided. Never, in her entire life of pain and deceit and hatred and blood, had she had such a strong resolution.

Clint Barton would make it out alive.

He'd given her _life_. Not by sparing her life, not by bringing her back to SHIELD, not by disobeying orders. He'd shown her how amazing it felt to be loved. What an incredible feeling it was to be cared for and appreciated. What it was like to call a place your home. What it was like to see the smiling face of someone you care for and know that everything was going to be alright.

He'd been the first person to call her family.

He'd given her life, so she'd trade hers to ensure his. To ensure that he lived a long, happy life with his family. With Lila, that precious little girl who always called her Auntie Nat, who looked up at her with innocent adoration that she could never quite convince herself she deserved. With Cooper, the image of his father, tall, blond, athletic, ready to face the world. With little Nathaniel, who'd been just more than a baby. Would he even remember her?

And with Laura, that saintly woman who knew glimpses of her past and loved her anyways. Who always made sure she stayed for dinner. Who always kept the guest room stocked with clothes for when she was there. Who knew that she didn't like onions, that her favorite ice cream was Ben and Jerry's Chocolate Fudge Brownie, that she liked Star Wars, oddly enough. Who always cooked the onions on the side when she was there, always kept an extra carton of her ice cream in the fridge, always kept the DVDs under the TV.

The entire Barton family. Her first family.

The Avengers. Her second family.

How would they mourn her? Would they wait until after they'd fixed the universe? Would they give her a few minutes of silence? Would they tell her story? Would anyone but them ever know what she'd done?

A small, disbelieving smile touched her lips, even as she felt the ground get closer. And closer.

It didn't matter if the world knew.

Her family would fix the lives undone, and it would be alright. They'd make sure that this wasn't in vain.

She'd thought that telling Clint it was okay to let her go, to let he fall to her death, may have been too much. It wasn't okay. Nothing about it was okay.

But it would be.

She felt a tears pool in her eyes, falling just as fast as she was. A smile etched itself onto her face as the seconds ticked by.

Everything would be alright.

Surely, the ground was getting closer now—

A single burst of all-consuming, terrible pain consumed her for the blink of an eye.

And then, for Natasha Romanov, it was over.

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The Bartons mourned.

Clint remembered the look on Laura's face as he told her what Nat had done. What she'd done to save the world, but more importantly, what she'd done for Laura and the kids.

She'd given them back a father and a husband.

Lila cried for days. Cooper withdrew into his room. Nathaniel didn't remember who Natasha was, and that made Clint cry more than anything.

He and Laura dealt with it. They packed away her things from around the house, the keepsakes that she kept there, because that was her home. Maybe it wasn't where she slept all the time, maybe it wasn't where she came back every night, or kept all her clothes.

But it was home.

They put it all in a box, and they put it in the garage. They put a picture of their family, all three of the kids and Clint and Laura and her, on the mantle. Cooper had taken it—a selfie on his phone, while no one was looking. He had his hands in a peace sign and was giving the camera a goofy smile. Lila's bright smile lit up the room as she laughed, looking at Clint, Clint gazing back at her with a grin and his hand on her head. Nathaniel was laughing as he spilled the pureed peas and carrots for the umpteenth time, drenching the third bib that night. Laura was laughing in exasperation as she reached for the bowl, a towel in hand to wipe up the mess.

Natasha was leaning forward on the table, her chin resting in her hands, her eyes gazing with fondness and love over the entire scene, a soft, gentle smile on her lips.

Years later, when Nathaniel was seven, he asked Clint who the lady in the picture was. Clint sat him on his knee and said, "The other member of our family. She's…not coming back anymore, but she knew you when you were real little. She was your Auntie Nat…"

And Clint told Nathaniel Pietro all about his aunt Natasha, and how brave and beautiful and strong she was. How he would have been named after her, had he been a girl. Nathaniel had giggled and made a face, and Clint had laughed and continued his stories.

Every night before bed for two months, Nathaniel would demand another story about his elusive Auntie Nat. Clint would oblige—after all, there was an endless supply. Nathaniel would listen with rapt attention, cuddled in his blankets, and he'd fall asleep dreaming of the woman he couldn't remember that meant so much to his family.

Clint was just happy he could carry on her memory. He said so to the small, simple tombstone in the backyard. Clint had made it himself after everything had gone back to normal. The rough rock had been sanded down to smooth, cold stone, and he'd stenciled and etched the words he couldn't keep in his heart.

_Natasha Romanov_

_Beloved Aunt, Ally, Friend_

Clint had a hard time with religion, what with he and Thor being on speaking terms, but he did believe in God. He hadn't cracked the Bible since he was eight or nine years old, but he remembered the words, and he carved them underneath her epitaph.

_John 15:13: No one can have greater love than to lay down his life for his friends._

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Bruce reflected.

He nearly drove himself mad after the fact, thinking of what could have been done differently to save her. To prevent her death. To bring her back.

He regretted. Even with his body like this, with he and the Hulk merged into one being instead of a voice in the back of his head, he doubted it could, but…he'd wanted something to happen. He'd wanted more than the kiss she'd given him, wanted more than the looks they shared in private.

He'd loved her so much.

Romantically, of course. How could he not? She was fierce and beautiful, kind, relentless, _terrifying_. But once he got past the part where he was worried she'd impale him with her stiletto, he got to see just how wonderful she was.

She was magnificent.

Her past was soaked in blood and shame, and she shoved it all behind her and moved forward with grace and beauty and determination until she'd become a damn _Avenger_. She'd turned her life around, and she was stronger than he would ever be.

And behind the love, he admired her.

And _God_, he loved her _so_ much as a friend, because she looked at him with compassion and acceptance—both of them. The Hulk loved her just as much—was willing to give their life for her, in an instant. It was the first thing the Hulk and he had explicitly agreed upon.

Natasha Romanov was untouchable.

He regrets never going forward with what they could have been. He regrets it, but he knows that it would have been enough to just have her home.

It would have been enough, but she was gone.

And all he could do was move forward and keep her close to his heart.

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Thor honored.

Natasha had been one of the most incredible warriors he'd ever met. His friend Sif was no doubt up there with her, but Natasha was human. She was human and she was still just as talented, just as fearsome as Lady Sif.

And she was a friend.

He was chagrinned, to say the least, that the god of thunder had been beaten mercilessly in a drinking contest, once. In his entire life, once, by Natasha Romanov. Granted, it was his fault for choosing her home's staple alcohol, but nevertheless.

His respect for her had only grown. And then, he'd watched her make hard decisions, and fight even harder for those around her. He'd watched as she constantly pushed her past to the side and looked towards her future, and her family's future.

She'd become a sister.

He remembered he and the Rabbit talking, just before they reached Nidavellir. He listed and listed all the people he'd lost and all the ways they'd been killed, all the things he'd suffered.

He'd been so consumed by grief and anger that he hadn't even taken just a precious moment to consider what remained.

The Avengers, his brothers and sister in arms. The people he would die for instantly, those he knew would do the same. He remembered, in their first battle, a wave of protectiveness coming over him as he watched the Hulk looming over Natasha Romanov, about to strike her down.

And he admired the woman who grew to love the man inside, and eventually, the beast inside. The woman who made Banner realize that he was not a monster, and the woman who made the Hulk realize that he didn't have to be.

He admired her, and he would miss her.

He stared down at himself, at the absolute pathetic excuse for an Asgardian king he's become, with a gut that hung over his belt and a beard his father would balk at. He was not worthy to honor her as he was.

Rising, he carried himself to his bathroom and, after a long moment, he got his things ready. He cut his beard, wiping his jaw at the familiar feeling of short, neat stubble. He took a shower, washing his stringy, greasy hair, and cutting it shorter, how it was when he first met her all those years ago. He gazed at himself in the mirror and swore that he would get himself back into shape, become the man he once was, so that he could continue defending his people and the world.

To do that, he swore off alcohol until he'd achieved his goal…but only after one last toast.

He took down a bottle of vodka from the shelf and poured himself two shots, and then he poured the rest of it, along with every other bottle in the house, down the kitchen sink.

Fingering one of the small shot glasses, he raised it, feeling his eyes mist. "To you, Natasha," he whispered, smiling sadly as the image of her vibrant red hair consumed his memory. "May you live on in the minds and hearts of your family, and in the actions we take to ensure the safety of the universe…the universe you gave your life for."

It burned going down, like it always did. He put the glass upside down next to the other, gazing at it for a long second.

Then, he went to have a talk with Brunnehilde. It was time he forged a path worthy of Natasha's memory.

**A/N: Okay you guys I know he didn't have short hair when he talked to Brunnehilde but it was a good idea that I had so I had to let it happen**

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Steve remembered.

He remembered the woman he'd seen evolve over the years. She'd been loyal to a fault, always with her family's best interests in mind. She'd been so, so smart. So clever. She'd gotten them out of quite a few scrapes.

He remembered that moment in the stolen car, when she'd said, "Who do you want me to be?" After he'd said that it was hard to trust someone you didn't know.

He remembered saying, "A friend."

She'd told him he was in the wrong business, but he'd saved her life more times than he could count. And over the years, especially these past five horrible years, he remembered how close they'd become. How friend was just…not enough anymore. How it had gone from being too much to not nearly enough.

He remembered her unwavering loyalty, even during their "Civil War." She'd been on his side, yes, but Tony's as well, and it wasn't a cop-out. She was the only one of them who truly supported them both, in her own way. She loved them both—loved them all—and she'd rather betray one than watch both get hurt.

She made the tough decisions to make sure everyone got out okay.

And her final tough decision had been her last.

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, looking at the burned-out gauntlet in a glass case in the temporary Compound, at the former home of the Soul Stone. He wondered what happened to her body.

He wished he could've given her a proper burial, like Tony. He wished he could've held a beautiful memorial service, with lots of sunflowers. She'd loved sunflowers.

"Since when?" He asked once after she'd made the off-hand comment. His tone had been disbelieving.

"What, not intense enough?" She'd thrown back, eyes glinting. "Did you expect my favorite flower to be a Venus flytrap?" He didn't respond to that, because it was terrifyingly accurate. She smiled down towards the ground, looking at the sunflower at their feet. "No, I just…they're nice, you know? They're always pointing up, towards the light." She glanced up, eyes filled with longing.

He'd made a joke about how she'd missed out on her career as a poet, and she'd shot something back, but he remembered the moment.

He made a mental note to send some sunflowers to Clint, for the little grave he'd made. Or maybe he'd take them himself, after he returned the Stones to their points in time.

Sixty-five years later, in 2010, Natasha Romanov arrived at work for her first day as Tony Stark's assistant, under the guide of Natalie Rushman.

A handwritten thank you note and a bouquet of sunflowers waited for her at the reception desk.

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Tony avenged.

He felt the pads of his fingers come together through the glove, felt the agony of the stones' power flowing through his veins, consuming him. He knew this was it. Strange's eyes had been enough of a giveaway—he was never going to see Morgan again.

He'd never get to kiss her goodnight, or tell her another story. Never get to share another midnight juice pop. Where would she go to college? Who would threaten her boyfriends? Who would walk her down the aisle?

In ten years, in twenty years…would she even remember him?

He almost couldn't do it. He almost stopped, right there, and charged Thanos with his fists, even though he knew the outcome would be the same, because he couldn't bear the thought of dooming himself to a fate of never seeing his daughter again.

And then he remembered Natasha Romanov.

They'd left that day, for the Time Heist, thinking they'd see each other again. Thinking they'd all reunite. His last glimpse of Natasha had been a casual glance at her as he scanned the people he'd be trying to save the world with, again. Her blond-red hair braided over her shoulder, years of stress etched onto her face, looking at her watch, ready to go.

The last time he saw her.

According to Clint…she'd thrown herself off of a damn cliff with little more than a seconds' hesitation. He'd have a few seconds, maybe even a few minutes. He'd get to say goodbye to Peter, and Pepper, and Rhodey, and Steve and the others. He'd get to die surrounded by the people he loved most, withholding Morgan, and Happy, of course.

Natasha's sacrifice was what gave him strength to snap his fingers and end his and Thanos' life in one fell swoop—the fact that, without Clint, she died alone, knowing full well she'd never see anyone again.

Trusting them to make sure that she wasn't killing herself in vain.

Tony would be the first to say that Natasha and he started off on the wrong foot—she did, after all, deceive him, lie to him, trick him, drug him, smack him on multiple occasions…

…but he'd be damned if she wasn't one of the best friends he'd ever had. And he didn't have many.

For Morgan and Pepper and Peter…to keep them safe. To keep everyone safe from Thanos for the rest of time.

For Natasha. To avenge her. His friend who'd died for him and for the world.

He snapped his fingers.

Moments later, just before he took his last breath, he thought he saw her standing behind the crowd of people surrounding him, a gentle smile on her face, her hair falling over her shoulders, her hand outstretched.

When Pepper said it was alright for him to go, that they'd be okay, his head turned and sought her form. He could rest. He could finally, finally rest.

_Thank you, Tony_, Natasha's voice echoed in his head. _I'm here to pick you up._

As his hand fell from Pepper's, he reached out to take hers. The small hand was warm in his, and she pulled him up, leading him further into the light, smiling at him over her shoulder.

Together, they disappeared.

**A/N: I didn't appreciate how little commemoration Natasha got in Endgame. I loved the movie, but I really think she deserved more, so I gave her more. Hope you liked it :) hope you didn't cry too much! Please drop a review if you have a minute, and thanks so much for reading!**


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